GIVING IT HIS ALBEE
PLAYWRIGHT CAN'T STOP THE DRAMA Three-time Pulitzer Prize-winning Edward Albee turns 80 today and is not the retiring type.



And he's going to work.

The celebrated playwright is directing revivals of his early one-acts "The American Dream" and "The Sandbox," opening March 25 at the Cherry Lane Theatre.

After that, he goes into rehearsals for "Occupant," about his late friend sculptor Louise Nevelson. It stars Mercedes Ruehl and opens in June at the Signature Theatre.

Then it's on to the Broadway transfer of his new play "Me, Myself and I," about identical twins, that opened to raves last month at Princeton's McCarter Theatre.

And just as soon as his schedule allows, he's returning to one of his favorite places on Earth - Easter Island - to spend three weeks writing a play set there called "Silence."

"I've been to some impressive places," Albee says. "Egypt was impressive. So was the Yucatan and my first glacier. But Easter Island, out in the Pacific, a thousand miles away from anything - wow! The silence is amazing."

In the twilight of his life, Albee isn't coasting on his Pulitzers (three), his Tonys (two) or even his proclamation from the mayor designating today Edward Albee Day in New York City.

The proclamation sits on the kitchen floor, propped against the wall, in the spacious Harrison Street loft he bought 35 years ago for $40,000 and shares with his kitten, Abby, who darts merrily about his vast collection of African art.

The Tonys and the Pulitzers aren't on view. Nor are any posters from his 31 plays, among them "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" "A Delicate Balance," "Tiny Alice" and "Seascape."

"When I was young, I was always embarrassed to go into theater people's apartments and see all their posters on the walls," he says. "I decided that, if I ever got a poster or an award, I would never put it up.

"Well, maybe I'll put up 'The Man Who Had Three Arms,' " he adds, referring to his most notorious Broadway flop, which resulted in a 15-year banishment of sorts from the commercial New York theater. He returned, triumphantly, in 1994 with the Pulitzer Prize-winning "Three Tall Women."

"I've always thought I write fairly decent plays, even the ones the critics don't like," Albee says. "I would never let a play open that I didn't think was OK. I have a fairly good sense of my talent. Anybody in the American theater has got to be that way. Look what they [the critics] did to Tennessee Williams. They killed Bill Inge."

(Inge has made a posthumous comeback with the hit revival of "Come Back, Little Sheba" at the Manhattan Theater Club.)

"Actually, it was psychiatry that killed Bill Inge," Albee continues. "He was an alcoholic and a closeted gay guy who wrote good plays. Then he went to a psychiatrist and never wrote another good play. Back in those days, psychiatrists tried to 'adjust' you to society."

Albee, who usually has a store of witty, if enigmatic, responses to reporters' questions, is surprisingly candid these days.

He misses his lover of 35 years, artist Jonathan Thomas, who died in 2005 after a long battle with cancer.

"I learned something important about dying, about a slow death, as Jonathan's was," Albee says. "What I learned was: Never forget who's dying. It's not about you. It's always about them.

"And I learned something about grief: It never ends. It's like a third arm."

Albee's made a few stabs at dating since Jonathan's death. But the one relationship he's had recently ended.

"He was 50 years younger than I am, which has its problems," Albee says, dryly. "And he was a writer. It didn't work. I don't think I'll have another relationship. And that's OK. Besides, I can't offer a person more than 10 years.

"Am I lonely? Probably. Yes. I want Jonathan back."

As for his own death, Albee says: "Well, I'm not looking forward to it. Woody Allen has all the best lines about dying, to which I can only add that it's a terrible waste of time.

"I have some plays to finish. Maybe I'll be allowed to go after that. Maybe if I stop writing a play, I'll die."

michael.riedel@nypost.com class=a10blb>michael.riedel@nypost.com